Writer's Block
by danceswpenguins9
Summary: Bored and desperate for a new story idea, an aspiring author slash fangirl imagines a confrontation with Tom Riddle. But Tom Riddle doesn't like being imaginary. Weirdness, please read and review if you would like the drabble to continue.
1. Ch 1: In Which I am Insane

**A/N: This is just something I wrote when I was stuck and couldn't come up with any new material for my existing stories. A new chapter of Crazy is on the way, but until then, heres some wierdness from inside my head...**

Writer's Block

Blink…Blink….Blink…

_Why does that little cursor blink? Honestly, who designed this program and decided that a little blinking cursor would be a good idea? _I thought uselessly to myself. I was beyond tired; I had been tired six hours ago. Now I was into the beginning stages of sleep deprivation, which was accompanied with frustration, sore eyes, and mild hallucinations.

It was ridiculously late at night, and I was sitting at my laptop staring at the blank white page of a new word document. Without a single thought of what to begin typing in my head. Sighing, I decided it was time to resort to one last pathetic attempt at creativity. I'd need help though.

I'd need…a muse. It was dangerous, getting a muse. I keep them all in my dorm room closet. Sure, I have no place to put my clothes, which are currently spread out on my bed and stuffed in bins under the futon. And yeah, I'll admit, it's a pain not getting to have friends in my room for fear of them hearing the muffled pleas for help.

But in situations like this, keeping a few muses on hand is well worth it. I wandered over to the closet, preparing myself. I was sleepy, but I needed to be quick if I was going to grab one. They all fight amongst each other, thankfully. If they got along they might be able to work together and plan some sort of escape for the next time I open the door.

I took a deep breathe, and picked up the nearest object that could be used in self defense. In this case, a curling iron. I placed my hand on the doorknob, looking down once more at the other hand gripping the hair styling device.

Okay, yeah, not the most terrifying thing. I'd have to remember to pick up some mace next time I go grocery shopping…Wonder where one would go to find mace? …_Ah doesn't matter now_… I grimaced and jerked open the closet door. Immediately, there is a rush for the exit from within. I blindly beat them back with the curling iron and grabbed an arm. No idea whose it was. I gave a tug, someone came tumbling out, and I forced the door shut once more.

It took all my strength to get it to click shut, and then I turned the lock. Turning around, I looked to find out which muse I grabbed.

Ah. Lord Voldemort.

_Wow…He looks pissed. _He was standing there, right in front of my bed, crimson eyes burning. Yeah, I'll admit, he's a pretty scary dude. Pretty creepy too. His skin's all white and wrinkly like a mushroom, and I don't even want to know what happened to his nose.

He took a hissing breathe before beginning. "AVADA KED-"

"Wow, Voldy, haven't we discussed this before?" I interrupted, holding up a hand.

His eyes narrowed furiously. I shook my head. "You can't kill me because, one, you don't have a wand, two, you're in my world, bitch, and three, you're most likely a figment of my imagination…I can't tell for sure, though, that was a lot of sugar," I explained, motioning to the pyramid of empty mountain dew cans and candy wrappers.

He began pacing, which is something he does a lot of, I must say. I could practically see the evil little gears turning in his head. "You have kept me prisoner here for quite a while…"

"Yep," I agreed, settling back down in my desk chair. The room was filled with his evil aura, which I must say is impressive. Not many people can exude evil. Can you? Didn't think so.

Voldemort finally stopped pacing and turned to look at me, calculating. "I am…prepared to do what you wish, in return for my freedom. What do you want of me?"

YES, score! About time! He's always had such an attitude, never willing to help me out with a story. The excitement was probably showing on my face at that point. "What do I want? I want whatever brilliant, diabolical thoughts that are swirling in your head right now!"

He smirked, which is odd to see on a man with no lips. "Right this moment?"

"Yes," I confirmed. His smirk grew.

"Well, I was pondering the best method of torture for you, and of course how I should kill you, seeing as I don't have my wand…Would you prefer to go out with fire or perhaps something more subtle?" His red eyes sparkled with malice.

I pursed my lips, before deciding he must be grumpy from not eating in so long. "Want a burrito or something?" I offered. He stared. "I think I have some pizza rolls…"

I got up and checked the mini fridge. "Yep, have pizza rolls. Interested?" Voldemort actually looked puzzled. "…Is that a no?"

His left eye twitched. "No, I do not want your…pizza rolls," he managed to spit out eventually.

I shrugged and shut the fridge door, returning to my seat. He began his pacing once more and I watched his cloak sweep behind him. Until it knocked my alarm clock off my nightstand. "Hey, watch it with the grand sweepy walk thing!" I objected. "You got any good ideas or not?"

Voldemort sighed before leveling me with a glare. "Ideas for what, exactly?"

"Duh, my story!" I motioned to the laptop on my desk.

"That is why I am here? To provide you with material for some story?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yes…You have to have something good in that crazy head of yours!" I insisted.

He pressed a palm to his forehead in further irritation. "What sort of story is it?" he hissed.

"Dunno yet, I suppose it could be anything…I'm not really in the mood for humor though," I told him. Voldemort set his jaw before settling down on my futon. A few silent minutes passed, rather awkwardly.

"How about a romance?" He finally suggested, sounding rather tired.

I blinked a few times, surprised that Lord Voldemort would suggest romance as a theme. …But who am I to judge? Perhaps he has a soft spot for it in that decrepit old heart. Then again… Wasn't his weakness his lack of love?

"Um, no offense, Voldy, but… I seem to remember something about you never learning how to love. So how the hell are you going to help me with a romance story?" I demanded.

Voldemort sneered. "I may have not loved anyone-" he snorted, amused at the thought, "but that doesn't mean the idea never interested me."

I cocked an eyebrow, curious. "You were interested in love?"

"Of course I was interested in it, when I was younger. I saw that it was a source of power, of strength, for some…I also saw that it was a great weakness and brought about many wizards downfalls. Dark magic was a source of power far greater than love, so inevitably I avoided such needless entanglements all together," he explained, staring into the corner of my cramped little room, lost in some sort of memory.

" But you considered it at least?" I pressed, somehow intrigued by the idea that a young Voldemort could, or would, fathom such emotions.

"Yes, I did. I was young…I was always planning my future, always preparing. But at such a young age I was still somewhat foolish and…distracted," he concluded, grimacing.

"How young are we talking?" I asked. "Because I don't know if you've noticed, but I've got a seventeen year old you in there," I said, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the closet.

"Yes, I've noticed," Voldemort snapped. "He's aggravating."

I started laughing. Voldemort leaned back, surprised by my sudden hysterical sobs. I struggled to control myself. "Sorry, its just…you annoy yourself! That's pretty damn funny! Though, I suppose if I had to hang around a younger version of myself, I'd be pretty aggravated too."

Voldemort inclined his head slightly, perhaps in agreement. I'm pleased to see that his attitude has improved and that we're almost getting along. I mean, sure, he's probably not getting a warm fuzzy tingling feeling for me, but its something….

Then an idea occurred to me. And I felt brilliant.

"You know I've never lucked out and grabbed him," I stated nonchalantly.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow…Or where an eyebrow should be. "What?"

"Tom Riddle. I shoved him in there way back when I first kidnapped him but I haven't managed to get him out, ever…It's hard to be choosy, I sort of just grab whoever's in front. Normally I get stuck with Dean Winchester or Edward from Twilight…"

"Who?" Voldemort looked mildly curious.

"Hm? Oh, Dean's a hunter of the supernatural and Edward's a vampire. Don't get me wrong, they're nice guys, but…Sometimes I'm just in the mood for a young, mentally questionable sociopath. You think if you went back in there you could convince Tom to come out?" I asked finally, smiling hopefully.

Voldemort's expression turned from vaguely bored to calculating in a fraction of a second. "Perhaps…I might be able to convince my younger self to come out. He's been trying to assess the situation, and make a plan before allowing himself to be put in a vulnerable situation. But I could make it happen. For a price," He adds, smiling eerily.

"Let me guess that price. You want me to let you go," I state immediately. He nods slightly. "Okay, we have a deal. You go in there and convince Tom to come out and have a chat with me, and I'd be willing to let you go. I don't really need two of you, anyway…And no offense, but he's cuter."

Voldemort actually made an insulted face at that before standing. "Fine. I'll go in. It should only take five minutes. Wait and then open the door, he'll be in front. Then you can let us both out."

I nodded. "Sweet, lets do this." Voldemort swept grandly back to the closet door. I undid the lock and pulled open the door. He fought his way inside, and I threw my weight onto it to make it shut once more. And then I waited.

And waited. The alarm clock lay on the ground where it had been knocked, and I read its numbers upside down. Eventually I cracked open another mountain dew and took a few sips. Then, finally, the five minutes was over.

I went back to the closet door, eagerly opening it and forgetting to arm myself. Big mistake. A teenage boy was indeed in the front of the pack, and standing for a few milliseconds. But then the rest saw that the door was open and rushed forward. The black haired young man fell forward out of the small space, crashing down onto the floor. Lord Voldemort followed, attempting to extricate himself from the others and get out.

I slammed the door on him. I know, I know what you're whining about. I did make a deal with him but you have to understand, I can't just let Lord Freaking Voldemort go waltzing out of my dorm building at four in the morning.

So yeah, slammed the door on Voldy, who was attempting to push his head and arms through the crack nonetheless. "We had a deal!" He roared angrily.

"Yeah, sorry, I lied!" I squealed right back.

"AVADA KED-"

"DOESN'T WORK!" I taunted, turning around so I could push on the door with my back. I planted my feet on the floor and braced myself. It was then I got my first good look at Tom Riddle.

He was sitting right there on my polka dotted rug, silent and furious, dark eyes shadowed as he watched me struggle to shut the door. Not even two feet from me. Tom Riddle.

I could have giggled. Instead I grunted. "Are you gonna help me with this?!" I asked angrily, attempting to kick the door shut. His face tightened, eyes alight.

"No." He stated simply.

I growled and with one last burst of strength, managed to cram the door back into the jam. "Success!" I shrieked, turning my back on Riddle to lock it once more. From inside the closet I heard Lord Voldemort give a muffled wail. "Sorry, Voldy, but if you're hungry you should've taken the damn pizza rolls when I offered them!" I reminded him.

"Who are you?" Tom Riddle's voice came from about two inches from the back of my head. A bit surprised, I whirled back around, slipping and grabbing onto the wall to steady myself.

Riddle had rose and was now standing in front of me, beautiful angelic face so close I could see a tint of red in his dark eyes. His voice had been quiet, repressed, but completely dangerous. Still, I couldn't help myself… I tilted my head a bit, observing every feature his face offered. After all, he was just a product of an overactive imagination, right? Not as if that dangerous voice could really harm me.

Evidently he was impatient, however. "Who are you? Why are you keeping me here? Where have you got my wand? I want my wand and I want to leave-"

I held a hand up. "Bit demanding, aren't we?"

In a flash his hands were on me. One on my upper arm, forcing me back and against the wall, the other at my throat.

"I don't need my wand to harm you, though it would be preferable," He purred, towering over me. The elegant, handsome features of his face combined with his deadly manner made him seem like some sort of demon. And suddenly I was doubting my earlier assumption that he couldn't hurt me. I was positive I wasn't imagining the way his fingers bit into my arm, how my pulse beat beneath his stone cold fingers at the hollow of my throat.

"Dude, there's the door!" I exclaimed, gesturing behind him. "Leave, if you want to! Damn! I never had trouble controlling you guys before!"

Confusion flashed for a second on his face. "What? Controlling us? Explain."

"I will, just please, you're hurting me…" I looked down at his pale white hands. He loosened his grip but didn't drop them. "Right. I don't know how to explain it…I've got a crazy imagination. You get it? You…You're just here-" I tapped my head with my free hand. "In my head. I mean, I just sort of imagined jumping into all these stories and taking characters, and then I sort of create situations…When I'm bored, when I want to get ideas, for stories! I don't know how to explain it! You're not real!"

Riddle actually seemed alarmed by that and took a step back, releasing me. "What do you mean, I'm not real? I feel perfectly real."

"Well, I uh… I don't know! Before none of them actually tried to leave this room, though when you think about it, it'd be quite easy…I'm not exactly built. No, I don't know," I breathed. "You can't be just my imagination, I would never imagine you this way."

He sneered. "Really? Sorry to disappoint. But I think you're insane. I'm not sure…how I got here, or how this all happened…Come to think of it, I'm not even sure how you fit all two dozen of us in that closet." Riddle's eyes stared over my head at the small closet in back of me for a moment. "But it doesn't matter…I'm leaving."

"Fine, leave," I pouted.

"Give me my wand and I will, gladly," he said. Oops.

"Yeah, about that…I don't have your wand. I never imagined you with one. And since I'm pretty sure, no matter what you say, that this is all a weird hallucination…You'll just have to do without," I explain. Riddle's eyes flared, but he said nothing more. He just strode gracefully to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

"You said none of them have tried to leave?" he asked quietly.

"Yes…I mean, I never actually considered what would happen…Theoretically, you should be able to leave, right?" I shrugged. How should I know? Reality and logic didn't apply to this situation.

"Theoretically?" he repeated sharply.

"Yep." Riddle's head turned partially so he could throw one more piercing glare my way, before turning the knob and pushing the door open. He stood for just one moment, perhaps contemplating the large picture of a retarded Chihuahua on my door. Then he seemed to make up his mind and stepped outside of my room.

Tom Riddle took three steps down the narrow hallway, and then simply disappeared. Faded away to nothing. I stood, mouth hanging open slightly, staring at the spot that was now completely empty but had previously been occupied with an attractive seventeen year old boy.

Eventually drool dribbled down my chin and I was forced to shut my mouth. Silently, I promised myself that I would never again imagine conversations with characters I wanted to write about. Not when this sort of freaky shit happened.

Then I shut my door, which had been left ajar, and collapsed onto my bed. …_Never again…_

**I may continue, once I get Crazy updated again.**


	2. Ch 2: In Which I am Drunk

Writer's Block

I woke up, groggy and slightly disoriented, the next morning. My alarm clock sat in its rightful spot, next to my bed, red glowing numbers displaying that it was noon already. I groaned slightly, reaching under my back to pull out a plastic hanger that was poking me.

It was then I noticed my upper arm. Four small purple bruises were forming. Twisting my arm around, I saw the fifth bruise on the back of my arm. Bruises in the shape of a hand.

Alarmed, I jumped out of bed and plopped down in front of my computer. Jiggling the mouse to stir the computer out of sleep, I held my breath as I searched for the story I had written the previous night. I had writer's block and had tried to cure it by writing up a meeting between myself and some characters from Harry Potter.

However, the only word document on the screen was completely blank. The cursor still blinked in the same spot it was in several hours ago.

I gulped. Had my feeble grip on reality finally been broken? I had only imagined the confrontation, hadn't I? Imagined it and then dreamt it when I fell asleep…Or had I lived that, and imagined typing the story?

If that was the case…I jumped up and in three steps, stood in front of the closet. Hands shaking, I reached out and pulled open the door. As expected, empty hangers and some forgotten clothes met my eyes. No muses hiding in my closet. _…Of course there isn't anyone in your closet, you weirdo! You make all that stuff up! _But was it really possible to imagine bruises on your arm and make them come real? No, I don't think so.

I sat around for a bit longer, fighting with my mind to try to straighten out my memories of the previous night. …And maybe wondering just a bit if all of my "creativity" had turned to insanity. Gee golly whiz, I sure hoped that wasn't the case.

Eventually I was forced by the gurgling of my stomach to go out and get some breakfast…er, lunch. It was summer semester, so campus was pretty much dead. I was free to wander along the sidewalk, mumbling to myself like some sort of deranged lunatic, rubbing the purple bruises on my arm.

I entered the student union dining hall and got a bowl of cereal. I sat in the mostly empty sitting area, watching the nearest television, which had been left on ESPN. I was never one for sports, so eventually I got bored.

I finished eating my banana, ignoring the creepy guy mopping the floor who was watching me, and dumped my dishes on the conveyor belt. Then I walked back to my dorm, pausing in the hallway outside my door to peer into my room, making sure no one was there.

Wow I really was getting paranoid. I came back in, showered up and did some homework. For the rest of the day, nothing unusual happened. Unless you count doing your laundry and bringing it back to your room only to find a thong that doesn't belong to you unusual. I went out that night with some friends, and came back a little tipsy.

Before you get all overly critical I am legally allowed to drink, I am twenty one. And I got a ride with a designated driver back, just like mom always told me to. I don't drink very much so I tend to get drunk very easily.

I stumbled back into my room, making sure to carefully turn the lock, then going to the bathroom. I came back out to check the lock again, before going to get a bottle of water. Then I checked the lock again. Yeah, I am OCD. Stop judging me.

Utterly bored, I sat there looking out the window at the pretty lights in the night around campus and chugging my bottle of water. I am one of those people that can't sleep after drinking, it is a curse. It was about that time I heard someone clear their throat behind me.

I jumped, spilling the water everywhere as I spun around. A young, really irritated Tom Riddle was sitting on my bean bag. "Wo, you scared me," I accused, grabbing a towel off the drying bar and throwing it on the puddle of water.

Too lazy to bend down, I moved it around with my foot, thinking it would absorb most of the water. Tom Riddle was watching me, eyes narrowed. He then seemed to realize something.

"Are you…intoxicated?" he asked in disbelief.

"Is alcohol toxic?" I asked, surprised. I was a pharmacy student, I should probably have known about that, right?"

"I mean are you drunk?" he clarified, standing up to come closer. I did my best to stand straight, even as he peered in my eyes. "You are, you are drunk!"

"So?" I retorted smartly, shoving past him to go to my mini fridge. "It is a Friday night, some of us have better things to do than hang around creeping on someone. …Which reminds me, why are you back?" I left the door on the fridge open, staring in confusion at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "I assumed you were to blame."

"Me? I didn't do anything," I insisted. "Now why did I come over here…Oh!" I pulled out my bottle of strawberry vodka and some orange juice. I shut the fridge, thought twice, then got out some Monster energy drink too.

"If you didn't do it then why am I back here? I thought you said I could leave?" Riddle pressed, visibly upset.

"I said I thought you could. Sorry I was wrong," I shrugged. I made a screwdriver, tasted it, then decided it could use some more. "I dunno why but looks like you're stuck with me for the time being…"

"And how long is that?" Riddle plopped down on my futon, pissed off.

"Until I sober up and figure out if I am hallucinating….You are asking a lot of me. But I'll do it, because you're cute," I announced truthfully, grinning.

He didn't look amused. At all. "You are even more annoying when drunk. If that's possible," he announced.

I shushed him. "Only the sober people say that," I insisted. By the way, he happened to be correct. I am very annoying when drunk. But at that time I was happily pouring him a shot. "Take that, it will help."

He looked at me like I was a slug. "I will not drink that."

"Why not? Scared of a little tiny shot? Wow you are a wimp…" I shook my head, unimpressed with the future dictator of wizard kind. He seemed to take it to heart.

"I am not a wimp, I just do not like to cloud my judgment with alcohol!" he insisted.

I shook my head. "Nope. Wimpy wimpy…"

Aggravated, Tom Riddle's arm shot out. He took the shot glass, put it to his mouth, and tipped his head back. With a clink, he put the glass back down empty. "Now please do shut up."

I grinned mischievously. Peer pressure: not just a theory.

* * *

"If vodka were water…And I were a duck," I poetically started to sing about half an hour later. "I would swim to the bottom and never come up…But vodka s'not water, and I'm not a duck…So save me a bottle and shut the fuck up!"

With that, I pulled out the bottle of cherry vodka I had under my bed. I am not sure what exactly happened to the last bottle, all I knew was that Tom Riddle was giggling a lot more. Wait…He was giggling, period. He never giggled before.

"What's tha funny fizzy stuff?" He asked, pointing at my drink.

"Pop rocks, they make it awesome!" I exclaimed. He laughed, slowly leaning to one side until he fell off the futon with an "oof".

I sat the bottle down. "Oh, don't fall!" I said, pouting, and tried to push him back up. He brushed my hand off.

"I am fully capable of pickin myself up," He announced indignantly, slurring his words together. He got back on the futon. I clapped.

"Yay!" I plopped down next to him. "What will it be, then?" I asked, settling a serious gaze on him. He contemplated that.

"Another one of those monstrous shots things…Whatever," he waved a hand, then stopped. Then he squinted his eyes, waving his hand again. "No…No, my hand!"

I stopped pouring the vodka, sitting it down and cracking open a can of Monster. "What's wrong with your hand?" I asked, only half interested.

"Its blurring! Why is my hand blurring what's wrong with it!?" Riddle sounded absolutely terrified. I laughed, shaking my head.

"You, good sir, are drunk!" I announced. "And your hand is not blurring, your nervous system is simply depressed, meaning you are registering everything slower than normal…So your hand seems to be blurring!" I concluded, pretty impressed with myself.

Riddle stared, mouth slightly open. Then, he asked, "_What?_"

"Er…never mind, it made too much sense," I told him, sitting another shot down. "Take that."

He did as he was told. I finished my last drink, about to make another screwdriver. Then I found the carton of orange juice was empty. I jutted my lower lip out.

Concerned, Riddle asked, "What? Why are you looking like that? Stop it!" He reached out and tried pushing my lip back in. Laughing, I swatted his hand away.

"Nothing, we're just all outta juice," I explained.

"That…is unfortunate," he said, pointing. I am not sure what he was pointing at, it was above and to the right of me.

"Indeed," I agreed, taking a shot instead. "So, Tom…Did you really kill people?"

Riddle sighed, falling back on the futon. His head hit the metal bar with a loud noise and he cocked his head to the side. "That should have hurt, right?" he asked, confused.

I nodded. He furrowed his brow, eyes twitching. "But it didn't at all," he said in a wonder filled voice.

"It is a miracle," I told him seriously.

"Yes. And yes, I killed people…" He trailed off, shrugging then hiccupping.

"Why?" I asked, confused. "I mean, it can't have been fun?" I took another shot, knowing somewhere that I should stop us both soon.

"It wasn't," he insisted, shaking his head fervently back and forth. "No, you…Shouldn't ever kill someone," he told me, eyes watering. "It breaks you inside." He stared off out the window.

"So then why did you do it?" I asked stubbornly.

"What doesn't kill you…" he began, but then got a funny look on his face. "Why is your room spinning?"

I stared. Then it sunk in. "Uh oh, Tom get up, come with me…" He obeyed, getting up and leaning on me as I practically dragged him to the bathroom. He got to the toilet just as he threw up. "Wow, I'm good…" I muttered, getting a glass of water ready on the sink and grabbing some paper towels.

"Ugh, stupid funny spinning room!" he groaned, hanging onto the bowl. I wrinkled up my nose, getting out the hand sanitizer too.

"It's not the room spinning, its actually rapid movements of your eyes-" I started to explain, but he waved a hand angrily.

"No more talking, duck woman!" he ordered. Then he threw up once more.

I stayed quiet, hanging onto the sink to stay upright. I was drunk but I evidently had a higher tolerance than the poor kid hanging on my toilet right now. I waited until he quieted down, falling over to lay on the rug around the toilet.

"Come on, Tom," I said soothingly, dragging him away and leaning him up against the wall.

"My head hurts," he whispered. "I'm thirsty."

I felt guilty, knowing he had probably never been drunk before. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have made you drink so much," I apologized, spilling a little water down my shirt as I handed him the glass. "Here, drink this."

He took it, gulping down some before shoving the glass back in my hand. "Ugh…" he moaned, his head rocking back against the wall.

I washed his face and arms off, feeling rather like a mother. I fell over trying to stand up, smacking my funny bone quite painfully. I figured it was karma.

"Is this going to last forever?" he asked, wincing in pain and pressing on his forehead with his hands.

"No," I answered, biting back laughter. "Come on, you can sleep it off." I helped him up, taking him to my bed since it was a shorter distance than the futon.

He collapsed on top, so it was impossible to get him under the covers. Instead I pulled out a blanket and put it over him. I shuffled over to the futon, crashing down on it. Then my OCD acted up again so I got the trashcan and put it right by the edge of the bed by his head. Just in case.

I tried sleeping but got up once more to check the lock on the door. Then I got very tired.

* * *

For some reason I woke up the next morning slumped against the door. Let me tell you, not the best position to wake up in. I think my back is permanently bent like that.

I lay flat on the floor, trying to stretch my back out, thinking. When the memories of the previous night finally caught up to me, I bolted straight up. There were glasses and empty shot glasses all over, an empty bottle of vodka with a sad drawing of a duck on it in permanent marker, and Monster cans all over my room.

And Tom Riddle passed out on my bed. _Oh thank heaven I'm not completely nutso!_ I could have giggled in relief. He was real.

It was then I noticed the time. And swore. I was due in at Starbucks in half an hour. I got up, brushing my teeth and washing my face. I tied my hair back, changing into my uniform in the bathroom just in case.

I grabbed my bag and keys, but felt bad leaving him like that. He wasn't even moving, he was in a dead sleep. Paranoid I checked his pulse point just to make sure it was sleep. Rolling my eyes afterwards, I got out a bottle of aspirin. I sat two on the desk next to the bed, along with a bottle of water and donut.

Content, I finally left, locking the room after me.


	3. Ch 3: In Which I am Laughed At

Writer's Block

I came back from my job only to find my dorm room empty. I checked under the bed and in the shower, for some reason, but there was no sign of Tom Riddle. Sighing, I threw my bag down near my desk and took off the annoying white pressed shirt I was wearing.

I grabbed a towel and shuffled into the bathroom, intent on cleaning up. After a while of just standing under the water singing nonsense to myself, I washed and got out, wrapping the towel around myself. I emerged from the bathroom, humming as I walked over to my dresser.

I pulled on some sweatpants and a bra before I heard a snickering behind me. Eyes widening with alarm, I spun around. Riddle was perched on my bed, leaning against stuffed Tigger and smiling arrogantly. Next to him was Edward Cullen, golden eyes darkened with worry, hair casually windswept in a look that realistically took lots of hair gel to complete.

"Tom!" I exclaimed, surprised. He nodded. "…How long have you been sitting there?" I asked suspiciously.

As if to confirm they had been there the whole time, he smirked, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, a while…"

My eyes shot over to the impossibly beautiful vampire by his side. "In the future, ask before you have friends over. Okay?"

Riddle looked offended. "Yes, _mother,_" he grit out. "And just so you know, I have a terrible headache." He glared accusingly. I squirmed.

"I gave you medicine, it would have helped," I shot back defensively.

He snorted. "I was not about to take some filthy muggle medication. Don't you have any pain potion?"

Before I could make some undoubtedly witty remark, Edward spoke up, his tone weary. "Where is this? How long have I been here?"

My eyes shot over to him. He looked upset, and the purple circles under his eyes were pronounced. "Er…this is my room. Welcome. Please don't eat me."

Edward stood up, giving me a pleading look. "Please, I have to see Bella. Do you know Bella?"

I rolled my eyes. What did I expect, the guy had a one track mind. _Bella this, Bella that, stop molesting me with your eyes, you're not Bella! Annoying twat..._ "No, I don't know Bella. She's not one of my muses."

Edward frowned with pain. "I have tried, but I can't leave this place," he glanced angrily at the door. "You have to help me get out. Bella is in terrible dangerous-"

"In terrible danger of boring readers to death, perhaps," I commented dryly. He ignored that.

"And Tom has told me that you are capable of releasing me. I beg you, let me go," Edward asked, eyes searching mine desperately. I sighed, did I mention this guy is gorgeous? You try to focus with him giving you puppy dog eyes.

"You are going to have to make a more persuasive argument than that," I finally told him.

Cullen looked confused for a second, until the mind reading ability evidently kicked in as he cringed. "I-I…Please, anything but that…"

I sighed, flopping down on the bed and tugging Tigger out from under Tom to hug it. "Wow, am I really that hideous?" I commented, offended.

"Your eyes are too far apart and you have a slight overbite. But other than that, no, you are not entirely hideous to behold," Tom remarked helpfully, drilling his fingers onto his thigh in boredom.

I glanced over at Riddle, opening my mouth as I decided which retort to use. Finally I just ground out a sarcastic, "Thanks."

"Anytime," Riddle quipped, supplying a huge and entirely false smile.

Across the room, Edward was still looking awkward and sad, and really really pale. Gah, might as well put him out of his misery. "Relax, Cullen, that wasn't me asking, more like fantasizing. I would never dream of taking you away from your precious Bella," I explained.

Edward looked cautious but hopeful. "Then you'll let me go?"

"Sure, if you tell me what exactly you see in Miss Thing, Bella," I said, struggling to hold onto Tigger as Tom tried to pull it from my grip. "MY TIG TIG!" I screeched finally, as I was losing the tug of war. I kicked him, pulling the stuffed animal back when he let go.

"Son of a…" Riddle muttered under his breath, cringing in pain as he sent a rueful look over. "I will never again try to separate you from your tig tig," he announced.

"Damn straight," I said proudly, clutching the tiger to my chest. "Now then, on with it…" I returned my attention to Edward, who was staring incredulously back.

"What do you mean, explain what I see in her? She's…she's…Bella!" he said, as if that were all the explanation needed. I raised an eyebrow, bored. Couldn't Stephanie Myer at least have worked a little dimension into his personality?

Finally, I jumped up and crossed the room, opening the door. "You can leave," I told Edward. "I'm not sure where you go after you disappear, but that isn't really my problem. You'll be out of my hair."

Edward paused in the doorway, looking over at me in confusion. "I don't understand," he said hesitantly.

"Just go towards the light, bud. Peace out," I said, giving him a slight shove forward. Which was like trying to move solid rock, by the way. "Go on, Bella's waiting. She's probably being bled to death by hungry vamps right now."

Edward's gold eyes widened with alarm before he turned to face the intimidating dorm hallway before him, crusty old carpeting and tacky yellow walls uninviting. Then bravely he whispered, "Bella," to himself, voice wistful. He took a few steps forward.

Then he disappeared. "Well, that was melodramatic," I noted, shutting the door. I turned back to see Tom take a small sip of my coffee. He made a disgusted face.

"That was not potion," Riddle announced.

"Der," was my only come back.

"It smelled like a pain potion," Tom insisted. "And it was scalding hot." He took the lid off the Starbucks cup, peering down at the brown liquid skeptically.

"It's called coffee, numb nuts," I said, laughing. I jerked open the drawer on my desk, grabbing the aspirin bottle that rolled forward. "I don't have any pain potion. Trust me, just take this."

"Numb nuts," Riddle repeated, both entertained and insulted. He held out his hand, palm up, and I dropped two pills into it. He made a face before throwing them into his mouth and swallowing. "That better help."

"Or what? You'll try to take Tigger again?" I asked, teasing. "Come on, I need help with my story. I'm completely stuck."

"You said you would figure out why I am trapped here when you were sober. You are sober now, I demand an explanation," Riddle stated authoritatively.

"Oh, fine…" I said, thinking. Finally I revealed my ingenious theory. "See, I was thinking about this my whole shift at work. And I've come to the conclusion…"

"Yes?" the Slytherin snapped impatiently.

"Well. I believe I invented you as a muse to help me write this story. And as long as the story is unfinished, you are going to be trapped here," I stated, grinning.

His face turned from blank to irritated. "And exactly how long will it take for you to finish this story?"

"Not sure…It sure would go a lot quicker if you did your job, though," I said sincerely. "Start poking at plot bunnies, inspiring me with your dark nature…That sort of thing."

"My dark nature?" Tom repeated, an eyebrow raised. "How about you write your story as fast as possible, and I won't kill you in your sleep?" he smiled, but on him it was threatening.

I gulped. "Um, yeah. That could work too."

Tom nodded, as if he had assumed I would agree. Then he sat back down on my bed, looking thoughtful. I started up my computer, immediately putting on some good music. Tom spoke up over the sound of 3oh!3's 'Don't Trust Me'.

"I'm hungry. What do you have to eat in this godforsaken limbo?" Riddle asked loudly.

"Pizza rolls," I said, opening up a word document. "Want some?" I turned the music down so I could hear his response better.

"What exactly are pizza rolls?" Tom asked, narrowing his eyes.

"They're just magical deliciousness. Trust me," I said, taking them out of my mini fridge. He nodded wordlessly so I stuck some in the microwave.

"Just out of curiosity…What is this story about?" Riddle asked as the pizza rolls rotated around in the microwave.

"A girl gets sent into the 1940's Hogwarts era to try to save you from becoming a big fat jerk," I explained. "And you discover love."

Slowly, he grinned. Then he laughed once. Then, as if he couldn't stop himself, he bent over slightly as hysterical laughter issued from him. I stared, completely taken aback, as he gasped for breath. "I-I discover-HA HA HA..ha… I discover _love?" _he repeated, shaking his head. "Oh, you are a comedian."

"Shut up. I didn't ask for your opinion," I sniffed indignantly, looking out the window instead.

"A minute ago you did," Riddle corrected me.

"Fine. Shut up before I stick your wand where the sun don't shine," I amended, looking back at Tom. He wrinkled up his nose.

"I thought you said my wand was not here," he pointed out. I sighed as the microwave beeped repeatedly. Taking out the plate of pizza rolls, I shoved them at the jerk. Then I sat back down at my computer, watching as the cursor blinked tauntingly. _This is going to be a long night…_

* * *

_A/N: I actually really like Twilight I just wanted to poke some fun at it…Tee hee_


	4. Ch 4: In Which I am a Pyromaniac?

Writer's Block

It was later that night and I had barely forced out a page of my story. Every time I tried to focus I ended up daydreaming about something completely off topic, mainly dancing burritos with cat heads. Don't' judge me. Tom, in the midst of his boredom, had started scribbling away at my calculus homework. Sighing, I rocked back in my desk chair.

"What are you doing with my stuff?" I asked, casting a suspicious glance over at dark-haired teenager on my bed, his nose practically pressed to the pages of my textbook.

"Fixing it," Riddle muttered.

"What's wrong with it?" I asked, frowning. It was worth ten percent of my grade and took several hours of my precious life to complete. After all, those were hours that could have been spent on the doom of all college aspirations, Facebook.

Tom glanced up to look at me in disbelief. "What's wrong with it? Chimps could have done better, for one thing," he insisted.

"Come off it! I thought I did fairly well!" I pushed the chair back with a squeak to plop down next to him. He had already erased half of my work and started filling in the problems in his own neat, carefully slanted handwriting.

He scoffed. "It's a mess. Limits cannot be zero, you have to re-evaluate. And your grasp of continuity is weak at best…"

I stared, open mouthed, at him. "I wasn't aware you learned Muggle math at Hogwarts…" I muttered in protest.

He narrowed his eyes. "I didn't. This is simple mathematics, however. Anyone of average intelligence could understand it."

"Are you calling me stupid?" I snapped.

He held his hands up before his innocent face dissolved into a smirk. "Perhaps…But you didn't get a single implicit function correct. What other conclusion am I to draw?"

I huffed with my wounded pride. "Fine. I'm stupid. At least I'm a real person, though. Unlike certain other people in this room who are just imaginary characters I could write into nonexistence…" I pointed out tauntingly.

Riddle scowled. Grinning in victory, I returned to my computer. "How much longer is this exceedingly drab story going to be?" Tom asked after a moment, sounding uninterested.

Now it was my turn to scowl. "You haven't even read it! How do you know it's drab?" I retorted.

"It is about me falling in love with a girl. Undoubtedly, it is unrealistic-though with your fragile grip on sanity I suppose you did the best you could-mushy, cliché, and drab," he insisted, ticking the insults off on his fingers.

"It is not! You are actually fairly in character," I argued, crossing my arms.

Riddle sat up, closing my book with a snap. "Impossible. I can't be. I would never fall in love; I can't even fathom the emotion."

"Well, start fathoming," I shot back.

With an exasperated groan, Riddle stood and began pacing the room. "Why can't you just accept the fact that I am a heartless sociopath?"

"Because sociopaths are born, not made. And in my story, you are cold and cruel because you've been denied human bonds and affection from a young age," I insisted. "Now don't make me put on Kanye…"

Riddle paused, looking at me incredulously. "Could you make me anymore…what is the word…emo?"

I choked back laughter. "Whatever, Tom. Maybe I'll put in some badass dueling scenes for you, if you spit out some ideas already. Please?"

"No," he said stubbornly. "I'm thirsty. Make me hot chocolate, servant."

"Demanding, aren't we?" I got up, grabbing the box of Swiss Miss. "You know, there are three things that most serial killers have in common…" I stuck the milk in the microwave.

"Oh? What is that? Lack of proper parenting, head injuries, and nagging girls kidnapping them?" Tom drawled.

"No," I replied, smirking. I stirred the mix into his milk. "Bedwetting, torturing small animals, and fire setting. Did you wet the bed a lot as a child, Tom?" I asked innocently.

With surprisingly fast reflexes, Riddle whipped Tigger off my bed and directly at my head. I ducked and the poor tiger collided with the window. "Never. Though I always did like fire…" Tom confessed thoughtfully.

"Don't get any ideas," I warned him, pointing with a spoon.

He smirked mischievously. Handing over his hot chocolate, I picked up the television remote. "Now shh, my show is on," I ordered.

Tom stared at my TV. "Joy. Which bit of brainwashing, drool-inducing nonsense might that be?"

"Criminal Minds," I explained. "I'm going to marry Dr. Spencer Reid…"

"Oh? Are you going to kidnap him as well?" Tom asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Ooh, I've got a terrific idea! Why don't you force him into nuptials by threatening the wellbeing of his family and friends?"

I rolled my eyes. "…Actually that could work…"

* * *

"_That's _the man you wish to marry?" Riddle asked, throwing his hand back in the direction of the TV, which was showing the ending of the episode.

I nodded, grinning at the screen. "Yes. Isn't he adorable?"

"If you find scrawny, socially awkward men with bad hair and sunken eyes to be attractive, then yes," Riddle replied smartly.

"I find you attractive," I pointed out, smirking. "Besides, he's a genius!" I claimed defensively.

"So am I, and I am not any of those other things. He looks like a malnourished rodent that hasn't seen the light of day," Riddle spat.

My eyes widened with shock. That was my future husband he was talking about. Meaning, the potential father of my children. "Take it back," I ordered as soon as the ability to speak came back.

"No," Riddle said, grinning cockily with the air of one who was well aware the psychological trauma he was causing and thoroughly enjoyed it.

"You arrogant jerk! Take it back or I'll put you in a story with fangirls!" I threatened. The tables had turned as the Slytherin's smiles faded, his dark eyebrows jerking up with alarm underneath thick black hair.

'You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

"I did it to Draco Malfoy, I'd sure as hell do it to you. I might even throw in some fanboys…" I added, staring off thoughtfully.

Riddle's eyes darkened as he glared. "You are a sick person. I might be a future serial killer with absolutely no morals, but you are just…" he shivered, wrinkling up his elegant nose.

Clicking off the television, I stood up. "Point is, I win. Now if you excuse me, I'm going out," I announced.

"What!" Riddle jumped up, face shocked. "That is hardly fair! You are going out again, to socialize with normal people, and leaving me here? With only your imaginary friends for company?"

"I'll be back soon," I said reasonably.

"I said _normal _people, the thought of your return is hardly comforting. I insist on coming," Riddle growled.

I shook my head, laughing. "Right. If you try to come with me, you'll just disappear like you did last time. Remember, you tried leaving my room and snap, crackle, pop, you vanished?" I shot back. The tall teenage boy glowered.

I grabbed my bag, laughing. "Sorry. Behave yourself while I'm gone," I told him. I heard a knock at the door and knew it was my friend Laura. I opened it.

"Hey! Ready to go?" she asked, grinning.

I nodded. "Sure," I said, casting one last glance back at Riddle. He was standing there, looking murderous, but clearly my friend couldn't see him. Her eyes skipped right over the spot he was occupying. I winked at him before pulling the door shut and locking it.

Only to swear minutes later when I caught sight of him right next to me on the elevator. "Holy-(_bleep)_-son of a-(_bleeping)_-mandarin oranges!"

Laura glanced over at me, wide eyed, as the elevator grinded to a halt on the ground floor of my dorm. The doors slid open as she asked, alarmed, "What? What's wrong?!"

I got out of the elevator, turning to glare in disbelief at Riddle. Which to anyone watching, must have looked like I was glaring at the fire extinguisher on the wall. Tom was bent in half with mirth, laughing at me. "Oh, the look on your face!"

"Asshole," I muttered lowly.

"Who are you talking to? Hello!" Laura waved her hand in my face, still looking confused.

Riddle turned to stare at her, eyes narrowed. "Oh, no one, just her imaginary friend."

"Er, oh, no one," I said awkwardly, ignoring him and finally turning my attention back to Laura. "Let's get going." She shrugged, looking unsure.

"Okay then."

We started down the hallway, Riddling behind me still snickering. "It looks like I am no longer condemned to stay in your room," he said gleefully.

"Leave me alone," I ground out under my breath.

"What?" Laura asked. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," I replied quickly, giving an innocent smile. "Did you think I said something?"

"Um, I guess not…You are just acting really weird tonight," she said, shrugging. We emerged outside, Riddle practically skipping alongside me with joy.

"Shall I continue to torment you?" he asked thoughtfully as I trudged along, jaw clenched. "Or should I go see what other trouble I might stir up?"

Grabbing my cell phone from my pocket, I pretended to be surprised. "Oh, look, someone is calling me!" I announced, flipping the phone open.

Laura furrowed her eyebrows. "I didn't hear your phone ringing."

I waved a hand dismissively, holding the phone up to my ear. "Oh, Tom! Hello!"

Not two feet in front of me, Riddle raised an eyebrow, amused. "Yes? This is Tom, figment of your imagination? How may I help you?" he asked, eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Tom, you stupid dolt! Don't you dare cause any trouble tonight! You know what kind of hell I can bring you!" I growled into my phone, aggravated. Next to me, Laura's mouth had dropped open. "And don't you dare bother me tonight or I will do…um, I'll do something really bad!"

Across from me, Riddle looked less than impressed. "Something really bad? Oh no, I'm terrified." Rolling his eyes, Tom turned and faded into thin air.

My eyes widening, I muttered, "Shit…" And snapped the phone closed.

"Who was that? Tom? What's going on?" Laura asked, worried.

"Tom is a homicidal maniac who might possibly slaughter half of the school's student population by the end of the night," I told her truthfully. Apparently my history of being eternally sarcastic was working against me, because Laura laughed at that.

"Oh, right. Whatever you say. Can we get going now?" she asked, gesturing impatiently at her car.

I nodded, trying my best to ignore that gnawing feeling in my gut that told me I shouldn't leave campus. "'Course," I said weakly, climbing into the passenger seat after she unlocked the door.

* * *

We spotted the flames before we even got back to campus. They were visible, peeking through the trees and buildings, and even with the radio on we could hear the sirens and shouting. Traffic was backed up so I got out and walked, despite Laura warning me it probably wasn't a good idea.

I had to see what was going on, because deep down, I knew it was my fault. Sure, Tom Riddle was just this character I imagined. Right? I tried to convince myself that he didn't exist as I walked onto campus, following the crowd. Then, as I was nearing the football stadium, the masses of people came to a dead stop.

Ahead of the crowds of students were two huge fire trucks, both spraying water on the flaming mascot of my school. Rocky the rocket, a towering man with jetpacks strapped to his back, was burning like the holy mother of all bonfires next to the stadium.

I heard a familiar chuckle next to my elbow and turned, wide eyed with shock, to see Riddle. His eyes were reflecting the firelight, his face lit up with delight. I was incapable of saying anything for a few minutes. I just stood there, the people around me taking pictures and video of Rocky aflame.

Then, I sputtered, "Y-You-You lit Rocky the rocket on fire!"

Riddle faked a look of insult. "I would never do such a thing. Perhaps his cheaply made muggle jetpacks simply malfunctioned."

I turned, grabbing the tall evil boy by the arm and dragging him backwards, in the direction of my dorm. Luckily everyone was so mesmerized by the fire that they didn't even notice me acting so strangely.

Riddle put up little struggle, only pointing out, "This is your fault."

I snarled indignantly. "How so!? I know for a fact I didn't douse Rocky with gasoline and light a match!"

"I actually didn't use gasoline, it burns too quickly-" Riddle began to say reasonably, but a growl and tug on his arm cut him off. "You suggested it!" he exclaimed.

"I never told you to go about lighting symbols of school pride on fire!" I argued. Riddle stopped walking. I turned to face him, furious. "How is this even possible?! YOU ARE NOT REAL! YOU ARE IN MY HEAD!" I insisted, freaked out.

"Maybe I started out in your head…But I must admit, lately, I'm starting to feel a lot more real," Riddle purred happily. My eyes must have bugged out at that point because he chuckled. "Oh, at first, I could only exist around you…But now, it looks as if I am getting stronger, yes?"

My head starting shaking back and forth on its own. "You are not real…You are not real…"

Tom took a step forward, his hands roughly grabbing either side of my head. "Stop saying that," he ordered.

"YOU'RE NOT REAL! I'm going to a shrink tomorrow and I'm getting meds because clearly I'm schizophrenic or something-"

"It's too late for that. I'm not going away," Riddle snapped.

I took a step back, suddenly afraid of myself and not Riddle. "Either I've done this myself or you are some sort of poltergeist thing that is feeding off of me!" I announced. "No, no…I must have done this…And blacked it out or something…"

"You really think you are that creative?" Tom drawled, suddenly looking bored. "Do not try to take credit for my work."

"But why would I? Damn, I really am insane," I decided. That was it. I realized I was going to have to get help. What had once been a clever, useful imagination had gotten out of control. I would get diagnosed and get myself and Riddle under control.

I started back towards the dorm, wondering whether my particular brand of insanity was hereditary. At least then I could blame my parents. It was about that time I heard Laura behind me, calling out.

"Wait up! I've been looking for you, did you see? Rocky's burning down!" she yelled.

I groaned, turning around. "Yeah, I saw. Listen, Laura, were you with me the whole night? I could have sworn we stuck together, but did I ever go off on my own?" I asked, suspicious.

Laura shook her head, coming to a stop when she caught up with me. "No," she said.

Then her eyes moved to the side of me. Funny, I could have sworn she was looking right at Riddle. Glancing back at me, Laura asked, "Um? Whose this?"


End file.
